


Channel Two

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [61]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's better at being him than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Channel Two

**Author's Note:**

> for anon, who prompted: Dom!Clara roleplaying as the Doctor with the Doctor, and just getting off on it like it's her job. Which it kinda is.

It was a reasonable mixup. The language barrier, the limits of the TARDIS’ translation matrix. The grammatical structure of a sentence can get jumbled, does so frequently; honestly, it’s a miracle things don’t go south more often than they do.

Anyway. What they’re working with right now is: she’s the Doctor, he’s the companion. Carer? Friend? Groupie? Whatever.

“Not a damn groupie,” she grumbles, swatting him on the arm.

The locals know what the Doctor is, the legend at least; and they accept her as the current embodiment. As they should. She is magnificent, commanding, just confused enough to sell it. She owns the room, always. Probably better than he would.

Giving a speech, the big troop-rallying moment: he didn’t have to offer any pointers. Did anyway, of course, but she didn’t need them. She is, small as she might physically be, absolutely massive, completely at home, totally confident. They fall at her feet, metaphorically, and he does too.

And she saves the world, like he knew she would. He is behind her, always, he won’t make that mistake again - he would never abandon her, not now - but he lets her take center stage. Take charge. And he watches her.

“I’m better at being you than you are,” she says, as they spill back into the TARDIS. The Irish Goodbye, gone before anyone realized they were leaving.

He can’t argue with that. She’s good. Very good.

She pulls his coat off, shakes it out, puts it on. She could look ridiculous - he’s taller than her, scrawnier, it doesn’t quite fit. But it works, somehow.

And it…works, for him. Does something. The freedom of relinquishing the mantle, the awe/fear/pleasure of bowing before something greater than he is. Falling to his knees at her feet.

Works for her, as well, judging by the smell, the way she clenches her hands on his shoulders, holding him down. He’s a little tired (more than a little) of being The Doctor by now, but she’s not. She revels in it. The power, the control. The mantle assumed, its weight settling around her neck.

So he leans back. On his knees, feeling half-naked - mostly clothed but that coat does so much of the heavy lifting - not the Doctor now but just another small, vulnerable creature. A nobody in a t-shirt and messily-tied boots. Leaning, leaning back, as she towers above him. Her hands in his hair, tilting his head, his neck exposed.

The brief threat of violence. Her momentary willingness to hurt him, his willingness to be hurt. A breath held, shared between them.

“So if I were ‘The Doctor’. And you were the groupie - ah, ah, no, if you’re going to be a regressive misogynist, gotta be prepared to have it turned around against you. If I’m The Doctor, and you’re just here to pleasure me…” Her hands moving to encircle his wrists, tightening. “Or to serve me, or whatever.”

He leans back.

“What then? What next?”

Shrugging, pulling just hard enough against her grip to be noticed, not enough to break free. Implied: _Whatever you want._

And he says, “It’s your decision.”

He’s sick of it but she’s not, not yet, not nearly. A visible thrill running through her. Her hands hard on his shoulders, neck, clavicle. Enough to leave bruises, if he were the type to bruise.

“Yeah,” she says. Wondering, enamored of the fact. Settling in, the weight of the reins in her hands. “The Oncoming Storm, right? That’s what they call you.”

She pushes him back, and he follows.


End file.
